


if only for a moment

by Anonymous



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Basically... my take on Dean saying IT back :), Coda, First Kiss, Fix-It of Sorts, Getting Together, M/M, Minor Eileen Leahy/Sam Winchester, Post-Episode: s15e20 Carry On
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-25
Updated: 2020-11-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 07:13:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27709568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: It’s nice out here, is his first thought, elbows on the railing as he stares out into the horizon.Standing at the bridge where their journey started, the sound of rushing water below them and carefree birds above them, the feeling of Sam’s familiar warmth beside him, Dean could almost say that he was content.Almost.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 4
Kudos: 72
Collections: Anonymous





	if only for a moment

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, uh.... I haven't written SPN fic in a long time. The last time I did it, I was like... 15? And I'm in my 20s now, so it's been quite a while. I'm definitely not caught up, but I watched the final episode with my best friend and I cried my heart out, I swear! I'm not too happy with the ending, but I went along with it to create that reunion we were all hoping for, y'know? I actually churned this out in a couple of hours because I was just on a roll, so... yeah! Enjoy!
> 
> Not beta-read, but I'll probably edit it later.

It’s nice out here, is his first thought, elbows on the railing as he stares out into the horizon.

Standing at the bridge where their journey started, the sound of rushing water below them and carefree birds above them, the feeling of Sam’s familiar warmth beside him, Dean could almost say that he was content.

Almost.

He knows there’s something missing, and he knows that Sam knows it, too. His little brother keeps shooting him these glances, paired with furrowed brows and that sad, puppy-eyes that never had an effect on him (and Dean doesn’t even acknowledge the lie).

Dean doesn’t point it out when they eventually get back into the car, driving back to Harvelle’s Roadhouse where Dean started. Bobby’s not there anymore, and the bar isn’t lively, but that doesn’t stop Sam and Dean from sitting outside and cracking open a beer, where Dean stares up at the orange-pink-purple sky.

“Were you happy?” Dean eventually asks, taking a sip of his crappy beer. The flavor is tinged with nostalgia and emotions, and the memories of all the times he did this with his brother comes to mind—the two of them sat on the Impala’s hood, taking a moment to enjoy the quiet bubble that they made.

Sam huffs out a laugh and dusks his head, his hair getting in his face. “Yes,” he says. “And no.”

Dean leans back against the chair and waits, staring at his baby brother (because even though Sam’s a giant, towering over him even up in Heaven, he’s always going to be Dean’s _baby_ brother).

“It was a good life,” Sam says after a while, tearing the label off the beer bottle. “I found married Eileen, and we had a son. I didn’t have to worry about dying every day, and I didn’t have to run myself into the ground to save the world.” He lifts his head and there’s a sad little smile on his face. “But I didn’t have you.”

“Sam…” Dean breathes. He watches his brother for a moment and then runs a hand down his face before pushing himself up off the creaking chair. When Sam looks up at him, eyes shining and confused, he gestures for him to get up.

Sam gets up without question, always so trusting of Dean no matter what’s happening, and Dean stares up into his little brother’s eyes, seeing the years of sorrow and grief weighing him down.

“Hey, Sammy,” he says quietly, and spreads his arms the way he used to when they were kids, and little Sammy needed a hug. “I’m here.”

And Sam practically dives into them, wrapping his arms around Dean and _clinging_ to him. Dean says nothing as squeezes him, rubbing circles into Sam’s back with his thumb. His eyes burn when he feels wet tears drip onto his neck, when he feels the way Sam’s body shakes with barely-restrained sobs, but he doesn’t let go of him, he _won’t_ let go of him. Not then, not now, and not ever.

“S’okay, Sammy,” he murmurs, repeating the words that he said countless times before. “Just let it all out, Sammy. I’m here, I’m here…”

Sam’s crying tapers off eventually, and he pulls back, wiping at his eyes with the sleeve of his jacket. Dean lets him do it and takes a moment to wipe at his own, letting out a breath. The sky is starting to darken, the moon slowly rising and the stars making their appearance.

“We’re gonna be together again,” Dean says, nodding to himself. He squints in the direction where Bobby said his parents were and nods again. “I think I’d like to live in the bunker again,” he says. “I’m sure our rooms will look the same, and you’re free to stay with me whenever you’d like.”

“Heaven’s different now,” Sam murmurs. His eyes are red-rimmed, but he looks calmer, happier. “I think I’d like that.”

“Apparently, Jack had a hand in this,” Dean replies, gesturing to the field in front of him. A proud smile flickers onto his face because yep, his kid did all this. “Broke the walls down and everything. We can go wherever we want, and visit whoever we like.”

“Jack, huh?” And there’s a note of pride in Sam’s voice as well. Good. “Knew he had it in him.”

“We did good,” Dean comments, clapping his brother on the back. “We did real good with that one.”

Sam laughs and scratches the side of his nose. “I guess we did,” he says. He tips his head back, looking up at the star-lit sky. “Wonder if he’s around here, somewhere.”

“Probably,” Dean muses. “He’ll stop by and visit us when he’s free, I’m sure. Kid can’t stray too far from his Dads.”

Sam snorts. “I’m more like the Uncle,” he replies. “You and—” His face falls, mouth twisting. “Sorry,” he mumbles. “I wasn’t thinking.”

Pain, sharp and familiar, wells up in his chest. Dean has the sudden urge to lurch forward in panic, clutching at it, but he just barely manages to resist. He settles for clenching his fist at his side, fighting with the emotions for a bit, and then he exhales, and relaxes, recalling Bobby’s earlier words.

“I think Jack got him out,” he says, glancing at him. “Bobby said that Cas helped him out here, and I doubt that Jack would wanna let his other Dad rot in the Empty.” His breath mists out in front of him when he exhales, and he doesn’t voice the thought haunting him.

_But I haven’t seen him, and I wish I could._

“That’s good, then,” Sam replies, sounding hesitant, a hint of a question lurking in his words— _will you look for him?_

Dean shakes his head, and then he shrugs; _I don’t know yet._

He figures that Cas is busy doing Angelic things for Jack, probably enjoying life outside of the Empty, probably spreading his wings and flying over the world that he loves. Or maybe, just maybe, he’s avoiding Dean—the remnants of their final time lingering in his head like it does in Dean’s head, the echo of his voice loud in the silence:

_I love you._

They stand together, silent, contemplating, while Dean’s mind is a mess of thoughts. He swallows hard and blinks rapidly when his eyes start burning again.

 _I didn’t say anything,_ Dean wants to say. _I couldn’t stop the Empty from taking him, I couldn’t properly react to his confession, I couldn’t save him from being stuck in there for eternity._

_I didn’t say it back, Sammy. Why didn’t I say it back?_

“He’ll be around,” Dean says instead, voice rough. He takes a seat again and reaches for his still-cold beer, staring at the Impala so Sam won’t see the tears in his eyes. “We’ll see him soon enough.”

Sam doesn’t say anything, but he does scoot his chair closer and shifts his foot until their boots are touching, and that’s enough. That’s more than enough for now.

❧ ❧ ❧

He’s at Harvelle’s Roadhouse when everything slots into place, manning the bar while Ellen and Jo go off to visit Bill, and Ash somewhere on the tech side of Heaven. Dean didn’t really pay attention to that whole explanation, just waved him off and said he’d stay. Sam’s with Eileen, who finally made it up here, while Bobby’s with Karen. No other person has decided to stroll into this place while he’s been here, so Dean grabbed a beer and took a seat on one of the stools, listening to the music drifting from the jukebox.

The door opens with a wooden creak, and Dean lifts his beer in greeting, not looking in that direction. He’s gotta be a good host. “What can I get for ya?” he drawls, already leaning over the counter to grab another, just in case. “We’ve got everything you’d want in here.”

There’s a beat, the sound of something rustling; clothes, maybe (or feathers, his traitorous mind whispers), and then—

“Hello, Dean.”

Dean’s head snaps toward the door, the bottle slipping from his fingers, but there’s no shattering. He knows that the bottle will be in the spot it originally was in, looking as pristine as before. “Cas,” he breathes, eyes wide. “Is it really you?”

The Angel stands a few feet away from him, tan trench coat draped across his shoulders, blue tie on backwards, messy black hair still imperfect, and blue eyes piercing his soul (quite literally, now). He stands tall, observing him with a cocked head, but Dean can see his nerves in the way he fidgets ever so slightly, in the way he slips his hands into the pockets of his coat.

“Yes,” he says, and his familiar rough voice threatens to undo Dean. “It’s me.”

Dean should go over there and hug him, but he’s frozen, heart stuttering in his chest. All that pain, all that grief, washes over him, threatening to drag him under the waves and drown him. He swallows around the lump in his throat and stares down at the counter, blinking away the wetness in his eyes.

(He’s been crying too much, these days.)

“W-What—” Dean starts. Stops. Swallows again. It’s hard to speak right now, hard to put thoughts into words, and he feels like a kid, small and hurting, but with a big responsibility on his shoulders. He clears his throat and tries again. “What are you doing here?”

“I came to see you,” Cas says, stepping further into the bar. He stops, inches away, and hums, giving a small shake of his head. “No, that’s not right. I wanted to see you.”

 _And you couldn’t have seen me sooner, when I died?_ Dean wonders. He realizes that he said it out loud when he sees the stricken look on Cas’s face. His mouth clicks shut and he slides back onto the stool, directing his stare to the floor.

“I’m sorry, Dean,” Cas says quietly. “I wanted to visit you right away, but I was just…” He trails off and then releases a huff. Frustration lurks beneath his words when he continues, “I suppose I was afraid of seeing you, afraid of what you’d say. Perhaps you’d be angry with me for not saving you, for allowing Sam to live a life with his brother.”

“I was mad,” Dean admits, and shakes his head. “But not at you, Cas. I was mad at the world, I guess, and I was mad at myself.” He lets out a short, sad laugh. “I mean, for the first time in a long time, I was happy with life—no plans for us, no world-ending events that we needed to stop, just a typical monster hunt. And it wasn’t even the monster that got me! Just a stupid rusty nail and my stupid mistake.” Another laugh, this one humorless. “A typical human death for Dean Winchester.”

“You deserved to go out the way Sam did,” Cas says. “Old and gray, with your children and grandchildren beside you.”

Dean barks out a real laugh, shaking his head. “M’not like Sammy,” he replies with a wry smile. “That apple pie life? It ain’t for me, it never was. I tried it, remember? And then I screwed up by going back to being a Hunter.” He shrugs. “That’s what I was always meant to do, Cas. Save people, hunt things, and all that.” Dean wets his lips and glances at Cas, quickly adding, “Besides, I doubt I’d find the right person. Not the way Sam did.”

“You would have,” Cas insists. “Eventually, you would have gotten there.”

Dean takes a long sip of beer in an attempt to give himself some liquid courage, feeling almost light-headed from nerves. He lets out a breath and says, finally, “If I tried, then it wouldn’t matter to me, because they wouldn’t be you.”

He hears Cas’s sharp inhale, but receives no response. Dean’s heart pounds in his ears, loud enough to drown out the soft, slow song that’s playing in the bar. He wants to continue, but his throat seems to close up before he can make a sound, and he stews in silence, chewing on his bottom lip.

“I can’t say it,” Dean eventually blurts out. He fiddles with the label on the beer bottle, staring at the condensation slowly dripping down the neck. “I really want to, Cas, but I just _can’t._ I don’t have good experiences with it, and I’m afraid I’ll mess it all up.”

“Dean,” Cas says gently. “You don’t have to.”

“But I want to,” Dean says. He looks up at the Angel, who’s gazing at him with his head cocked in that bird-like way of his. “I’m just asking if you’ll be patient with me, s’all.”

“Of course,” Cas replies, face softening. He edges closer to the bar and rests a hand on Dean’s arm, and Dean feels electricity shoot down his spine. Even through the layers of his clothes, it still feels like that. “Dean, you don’t need to say it to keep my affection for you. I have loved you for what felt like eons, and that won’t go away because you can’t say it back just yet.”

Heat creeps up to Dean’s cheeks (he can still blush in Heaven??), and he resists the urge to avert his gaze. “Well, when you put it that way…” he mumbles.

“Besides,” Cas adds. “You might not be able to say it, but your soul is quite open with your feelings for me. Especially up here in Heaven.”

“And what does that mean?” Dean asks warily. “You’re peeking at my feelings? That’s a little rude, Cas.”

Cas rolls his eyes, a very human gesture that Dean’s surprised to see (he suspects that Cas learned it from Sam since he was prone to do that once every single day). “It’s unintentional, I assure you,” Cas says. “There were times when I couldn’t help but glimpse at your soul, particularly when the day was hard, and it soothed me more than it should.”

His hand slides up to Dean’s shoulder, where the handprint once lay, and Dean feels an all-too-familiar tingle—the time when he’d curl his hand around his bicep, staring at his reflection in various motel bathrooms, and reminding himself that it wasn’t a dream. “What do you mean?” he asks, voice a little husky.

“Your soul is beautiful,” Cas says simply, but there’s a touch of reverence to his words, wonder. “I’ve known that since I first saw you.”

“In the barn?”

The corner of his lips quirk. “That was not our first meeting,” Cas says. “You may have forgotten, but I remember the moment I found Dean Winchester’s soul after storming the gates of Hell.” He takes a seat on the stool beside Dean, but his hand remains on his bicep. “You shined so brightly,” he murmurs, sounding distant and airy, as if lost in the memory. “Despite what Hell had done, you still shined brighter than the rest of the souls trapped down there, and you were a beacon that led me to you.”

“My soul?” Dean asks incredulously. He looks down at himself, not seeing anything different.

“You cannot perceive it the way that I do,” Cas informs him. “My ‘angel vision,’ as you would say, allows me to do so without any difficulty.”

Dean swallows, and now he has to look away from the intensity of Cas’s blue eyes. “And how does that relate to you being able to see my soul-feelings?” he asks. “I don’t think I was feeling anything _nice_ in Hell.”

“That came after,” Cas replies softly. “Dean, your soul is filled with _love_ —for Sam, for your car, for the world, for all the people that came into your life. You, Dean Winchester, are a being _made_ from love, and you were made _to_ love. Your soul grows brighter around the people you care for, and it dims when they’re away.” There’s a small smile on his face when Dean looks up at him, and the affection threatens to undo him. “Your soul is beautiful,” Cas says again. “And I know you return my feelings because of it.”

“What—” Dean pauses, wets his lips, and tries again, “What does it do when I’m around you?”

“It outshines everyone in the room,” Cas answers, and now he’s even closer. This time, Dean feels a nervous, fluttery feeling in his stomach. “You radiate so many positive feelings when I’m near, Dean, and your soul reaches for my Grace.”

“Why does it do that?” Dean wonders.

He’s surprised to see Castiel looking so nervous, all of a sudden. “When I raised you from Hell,” he speaks slowly. “I put you back together myself. I purged the demon touch from your soul and healed all the wounds that were inflicted upon you, and I used my own grace to stitch the pieces together until you were pure, whole, and new.”

“Your…” Dean touches his chest with wide eyes. “I have your Grace in me?” He doesn’t know how he feels about the idea yet, but he can’t deny that there’s a part of him that’s _pleased_ over having a piece of Cas with him.

“I—yes. You have some of my Grace in your soul, and I used to wonder if your soul was just reacting that way in an attempt to unite with me, seeking more Grace.” Cas shakes his head. “But that wasn’t the case, Dean. The feelings became apparent, and I realized that it was not seeking to merge with my Grace. Your soul wanted to be with my Grace, yes, but for a different reason—similar to the way a soul reaches for another soul when they care for them so deeply.” And then, Cas smiles, soft and happy as he says, “The way soulmates do.”

“The way soulmates do,” Dean repeats, dazed. “And you believe that we’re—” His mouth snaps shut and he swallows, something akin to hope rising in his chest. 

“Dean,” Cas says, voice low and serious. “What I feel for you is something that I’ve never felt before, not for another human, nor an Angel. I love humanity, and my brethren, and I even love the small family that we made in that bunker, but it’s not the same as what I feel for you.” 

“Cas…” Dean breathes.

And Castiel straightens, and Dean sees the shadow of wings curving towards him, flickering in and out of existence until they’re suddenly _there,_ sleek black feathers that take his breath away. “Dean,” he says in a soft, tender voice, similar to the way he said it in those quiet moments that they had, just the two of them in a shared space. “I believe it to be true.”

“You do?” Dean asks quietly.

“Yes,” Cas replies. “I grew to love you not because we were destined to be through Cupid’s arrow, but because you’re _you._ ” He pauses, licks his lips, and then his wings are gone; Dean misses them already. “Destiny never mattered when it came to us,” he adds. “You taught me that, Dean, and I will always believe that to be true. We found each other in spite of everything that the world threw at us, and we became soulmates on our own.”

“Cas,” Dean whispers, and he doesn’t dare try to hide his longing. It feels like it’s all he can say right now, all he can think, and if he was alive, he knows that his heart would beat to the sound of his name— _Cas, Cas, Cas, Cas, Cas._

“Dean,” Cas murmurs, and there’s that touch of reverence to his voice again, like Dean’s name is the only thing he should know, like Dean’s the only one that deserves his prayers. “ _Dean._ ”

And Dean leans in, ears catching the sound of Cas’s hitched breath, eyes catching the way his pupils dilate. “Will you say it again?” he asks, hand trembling just so. “Please?”

“I love you,” Castiel, the Angel who rebelled for humanity, the Angel who fell for _him,_ says. “I love you, Dean Winchester. I love you so much that I don’t know what to do with myself. I loved you then, I love you now, and I’ll love you until the end of time itself.”

Dean kisses him.

It’s not like what those movies make it out to be when you kiss the love of your life, no. There are no fireworks exploding in his head, no sparks traveling through his body. There’s just a sense of rightness flooding through him, a warmth blooming his chest, and the feeling of coming home.

Cas hand clutches his bicep, still resting over where his handprint used to be, and he tilts his head as he kisses back. Dean presses closer to him, closer to the warmth emanating from the Angel, and distantly thinks that maybe it’s what Cas means—his soul reaching for his Grace, desperate to be together.

Dean’s breathing raggedly by the time they break, and Cas isn’t any better. They stare into each other’s eyes, and Dean feels a rush of affection for Cas, so strong and overwhelming that he has to tip his head forward onto the Angel’s shoulder and clutch him tightly.

“I’m glad you’re here,” he chokes out.

Cas returns the embrace. “There’s no place I’d rather be than by your side,” he says.

❧ ❧ ❧

And it’s when they’re under the star-lit sky, walking home after having dinner with the Winchester family, days, weeks, months after the reunion, that Dean finally makes his confession. 

The moon shines down on them, the cool breeze tickles his cheeks, and the night birds sing their songs. Cas’s hand is warm in his, their fingers threaded together, and their silence is comfortable, soothing. 

Dean lets out a breath and then glances at Cas, smiling at the content look he sees on his face. Affection rushes through him and when Dean opens his mouth to call Cas’ name, maybe ask him if they want to stop by somewhere and get some pie, what comes out is a soft, confident,

“I love you.”

Cas looks over at him, eyes wide and lips parted, and Dean’s certain he’s wearing a similar expression. He hadn’t meant for it to come out like that, but now that he’s thinking about it, he’s okay with saying those words to Cas right now. It’s not like they needed a romantic dinner or something—it was a moment with just _them,_ nothing more, nothing less.

A smile tugs at his lips again when Cas’s face softens, and then they stop walking to face each other. Cas presses their foreheads together and hums, as he’s prone to do whenever he’s pleased by something.

“Will you say it again?” Cas murmurs. “Please?”

And Dean doesn’t hesitate. “I love you,” he repeats, no waver, only warmth. “I love you, Castiel— _Cas._ I love you, I love you, I love you.” He pairs each declaration with a kiss, until he’s got his arms wrapped around Cas, melting into the kiss that carries all of the love they share.

He wouldn’t have Heaven any other way.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading :)!


End file.
